


Everything You Are

by kiashyel



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiashyel/pseuds/kiashyel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each of them had walked away from the Doctor and the TARDIS before, but this time they had each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately after the events of Doctor Who "Journey's End." I claim no ownership of these characters and/or events.

“You know, I’m not sure about UNIT these days,” Jack mused. He slipped his hand into Martha’s and together they walked away from the Doctor and the TARDIS. Each time before, leaving the Doctor had been heart wrenching for Martha Jones but having Torchwood’s own Captain Jack Harkness exiting alongside her dulled the edges of the goodbyes.

“Maybe there’s something else you could be doing,” Jack continued.

“Yeah, and what’s that?” Martha inquired. An insinuating silence danced in the air and Martha turned to see Jack’s mouth twisted in a leering grin, his eyebrows waggling suggestively.

“JACK!” she exclaimed and gave him a playful shove. Throwing back his head, Jack sounded off a warm, boisterous laugh.

“Why, Dr. Jones,” he feigned shock. “I can’t believe you would hint at such a thing. You’re an engaged woman. What _would_ your fiancée say?” He paused. “Unless, of course, you’re finally giving up the charade and admitting it’s me you really love. In which case, we can run away together right now.”

“Fat chance,” Martha replied. “Ianto’s quite scary with that taser gun. The last thing I need is him coming after me.”

“And who says he wouldn’t join us?” Jack’s eyebrows arched again. Martha had never known anyone who could convey such overwhelming innuendo in a single glance as Jack Harkness. She groaned but gave no reply.

“Hey! You two!” a voice called. Jack and Martha stopped their stroll and turned to see Mickey Smith sprinting after them, his shoes smacking hard against the sidewalk as he ran.

“Ugh. I thought I got rid of you!” the captain complained in a teasing tone. Mickey approached the pair and draped an arm around each of them.

“Guess again, Captain Cheesecake,” Mickey responded.

Jack pointed a threatening finger at their new companion and warned, “For the last time, Mickey Mouse, it’s beefcake. _Not_ cheesecake.”

A grin flashed in the corners of Mickey’s mouth before he asked, “So what’re you two up to?”

“Um,” Martha looked around Mickey to glance at Jack, “don’t right know, actually. ‘Spose you’ve got to get back to Cardiff. The Hub has to be in a right state after this. Gwen and Ianto are probably expecting you soon.”

“Come on now Martha. You know me better than that. If I wait awhile, the mess will drive Ianto mad and he’ll have the whole place shipshape in Bristol fashion without me having to lift a finger. Besides, when was the last time you and I had some time together?” Jack wondered.

“Just a few weeks ago,” she responded. “For Owen and Toshiko…”

Jack’s clear blue eyes darkened as a storm cloud of emotions passed over his face. After a moment’s quiet haunted recollection, he wrenched his mouth into a smile.

“Then when was the last time we had some fun? In the year one hundred trillion when we were being chased by the Futurekind?” he ducked out from under Mickey’s arm and turned to face Mr. Smith and Dr. Jones, walking backwards as he spoke. “Running from the explosion when the Master detonated a bomb in your flat? How about when they were doing experiments on you at the Pharm?”

“Sounds like you two have done an awful lot of running,” Mickey commented, dropping his other arm from Martha’s shoulder.

“And we’re gonna do some more.” Jack winked then turned and raced down the footpath, his long blue coat fluttering behind him like a superhero’s cape. Martha and Mickey paused long enough to glance at one another and share wide toothy grins before tearing off after the captain.

When the pursuit finally ended after a long jog down countless city blocks, Martha looked at Jack quizzically but couldn’t muster enough air to speak. After a moment, Mickey panted his question, “Where…are…we?”

“The best place I know to get a drink,” Jack breathed heavily as he worked at punching codes into his vortex manipulator.

“What? Here…at my…flat?” Martha huffed and puffed.

“There’s no place like home,” Jack retorted. He pressed one final button on his wrist strap and the front door swung wide open.

Martha’s face flashed rapidly between expressions of surprise and anger before settling on annoyance, as if she’d just caught her brother Leo dog-earring the pages of her favorite book.

“How the hell did you do that?” she demanded.

“Locks can’t stop me, Martha Jones,” he replied matter-of-factly and strode into her home.

“Sometimes, I’d like to kill that man just so I’d have the satisfaction of watching him come back to life so I could kill him again,” Martha glowered. Then, she made a sweeping gesture to the gaping threshold and said to Mickey, “Well, in you get.”

“You know…we haven’t actually been properly introduced yet,” Mickey stated. He extended a hand toward her. “I’m Mickey Smith.”

She took the hand he offered. “Dr. Martha Jones.”

Her title was still a novelty and it squeaked around the edges. She used to often, trying to wear the newness off the sounds _doctor, Martha_ , and _Jones_ made when the words were said together, but she hadn’t meant to be so formal with another TARDIS traveler.

Mickey Smith didn’t seem to mind. He smiled warmly and said, “It’s nice to meet you Dr. Jones.”

From inside the flat, Jack bellowed, “Hey, Martha! Where’s the scotch I sent to Tom for your engagement announcement?”

Martha rolled her eyes and released herself from Mickey’s grasp. “How do you know we still have any?” she called as she stepped inside, Mickey close at her heels.

Cupboard hinges creaked in the kitchen as Jack foraged for the expensive bottle of spirits. As he searched, he told her, “Because when you called with the news, you were at the airport with Tom. Since then, he’s been in Africa, China, and Haiti without coming back to England. You prefer wine to whisky and Tom’s not been here to drink it. Ergo, you should still have… Aha! There’s the bottle!” Jack found his quarry atop the refrigerator, nestled behind a stack of UNIT logoed three-ring binders.

The seal gave a satisfying crack and Jack poured two fingers each of Talisker into three waiting tumblers. Captain Harkness distributed glasses to Mickey and Martha then held his own drink aloft.

“To saving the world,” he said. “Again.”

“To the Doctor,” said Martha, a bittersweet note tainting her reverent tone.

“To us,” Mickey spoke firmly. “All of us companions who’ve traveled with that madman in the blue police box.”

The three tumblers clinked together with a crystalline sound and Jack and Martha echoed, “To us.”

Martha took a polite sip of her whisky while Mickey and Jack each gulped a mouthful of the Talisker. The men sighed to relieve the dull, aching burn of the alcohol in their throats. Martha peered at the deep amber liquid with pursed lips then simply said, “Not bad.”

Mickey’s eyes widened and he parroted her words. “Not bad? This is the best scotch money can buy. And the fact that Harkness paid for it makes this bottle the drink of the gods.”

A warm laugh bubbled from Martha’s lips. “OK, maybe it’s better than not bad,” she conceded.

Reaching out his hand, Jack plucked a stained Chinese menu from the front of Martha’s fridge and asked, “Who’s up for take-away?”

“Ooh, get an extra order of egg rolls,” Martha told him, setting down her drink and undoing the buttons of her utilitarian jacket. Jack gave a playful whistle when the coat slid from her shoulders and revealed the plum colored vest top she wore underneath. “Oh stop it,” she rolled her eyes.

Chuckling, Jack brought the phone to his ear and, after a beat, greeted the person who answered his call.

“So…” Mickey drawled as he pulled a chair from the table and gestured for Martha to sit, “what disaster brought the Doctor into your life?”

“Judoon,” she said. “Actually, it was a plasmavore. The Judoon just took us to the moon because they were looking for the plasmavore.”

“What’re Judoon?” he asked, seating himself next to her.

“Sort of an intergalactic police squadron,” Martha explained. “But they’re basically these great big space rhinos.”

A hint of a smile hovered in the corner of Mickey’s mouth. He took another drink of whisky. “Spaceships? The Doctor ever take you on a spaceship?”

“A few actually, though there was usually some sort of immediate, pressing danger. Like nearly being pulled into a living sun. You?”

“Just the one,” Mickey said, “but mine at least had Madame de Pompadour.”

“As in the mistress of Louis XV?” Martha asked in surprise. Mickey nodded. “And how exactly does an eighteenth century French aristocrat end up on a spaceship?”

“It’s not as uncommon as you’d think,” Jack piped up. He dropped his mobile onto the table and joined them. “This one time, I had dinner with Montesquieu in the mess hall of a spaceship called Walca-”

“Yeah right,” Mickey interrupted with a scoff.

Jack’s voice rose in an injured tone, “Why does no one believe my stories?”

“Aww, I believe you, Jack,” Martha took the captain’s hand. His face scrunched petulantly but he accepted her support.

“Thank you, Martha.”

“Come on,” she chivvied. “Tell us the story.”

Jack’s blue eyes sparkled as he began. “ _Well_ …”

The trio of time travelers swapped lively tales of their adventures, with and without the Doctor, and by the time the take-away had been delivered and promptly devoured, only the dregs of the Talisker remained.

“So, boss,” Mickey drawled, exhaustion and expensive liquor weighing down his tongue, “tell us the secret.”

“What secret? I’ve got lots of secrets,” Jack commented, his words muffled inside the tumbler he held to his lips.

“The meaning of life,” Mickey clarified.

“The Python film? Eh, there were some great sketches – Mr. Creosote in particular – but I prefer _Life of Brian_. Give me a naked Graham Chapman taking the piss out of organized religion any day.”

“Very funny, Jack,” Martha chided. “Come on…share a little bit of all that knowledge you’ve gathered over the years. What’s the secret to really living?”

Captain Harkness took another sip from his glass, savoring those last few drops of scotch, as he pondered the question.

“Words of wisdom,” he mused. “Hmm, let’s see.”

Jack drummed his fingers on the table as he chose his phrases. “Once you’ve drawn your line in the sand, don’t cross it. For any reason. Guard your hope so that it’s not easily taken away, but don’t keep it locked out of sight either.”

He swallowed the last of his drink then fingered the glass for a long moment, swiveling it on its edge in short pivoting motions. Finally he spoke again.

“Always be open to love, to giving and receiving it. Because love, it’s the best part of life. It’s everything we are.”

Soft silence enveloped the trio. Mickey wrapped his fingers around the neck of the Talisker bottle and lifted it into the air, peering at the empty glass bottom. “Too bad we don’t have anything to toast with anymore, because that was brilliant.”

Jack rose from his seat and exhaled loudly, “We’ll make it my parting words. I should really be getting back to Cardiff.”

Martha shot her eyes at the wall clock and said, “Now? It’s a bit late to be starting out. You could kip on the sofa.”

The captain grinned. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll go home anyway. Can’t promise I wouldn’t make any advances on you. Tom would have to defend your honor and we both know he wouldn’t really get anywhere killing me in a duel,” he teased.

“Well, if you’re going then...” Martha came to her feet and wrapped her arms around Jack’s broad shoulders. He dropped an affectionate kiss on her cheek then told her, “The offer still stands. Torchwood needs a medical officer and we’d love to have you.”

“Thank you, Jack,” she replied, moving out of his embrace. “But stepping into Owen’s lab coat…I just don’t think I could do it.”

Jack’s eyes flooded with understanding and he told her, “If you ever change your mind.”

“I know where to find you,” Martha smiled.

Jack looked at the third member of their group and gave a quick jerk of his head. “Come on Mickey Mouse, you’re coming with me. You’ve been in that parallel world for a few years. It’s time to reintroduce you to this plane of existence.”

Mickey stood and gathered his coat. He extended a hand to Martha and said, “It was nice to meet you, Dr. Jones.”

Her grin widened and she pressed her palm to his. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Smith.”

Martha escorted them to the door and waved them off into the dusky evening. Jack and Mickey quietly walked side by side, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched against the cool night air, until Mickey finally broke the silence.

“So Martha’s pretty great…”

Before Mickey could speak again, Jack interjected, “Oh ho, don’t even think about it.”

“What?” Mickey replied.

“Just leave it,” Jack told him. “Martha and Tom are happy. And she deserves to be happy, more than anyone else on Earth, so _don’t_ screw it up.”

Mickey held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, “All right, man. I was just making conversation.”

Jack cut his eyes in a knowing glance. “Mmm-hmm,” he hummed. “That better be the end of it. Like I said, she and Tom are happy. They’re getting married soon, going to start a family. Let it go.”

Mickey didn’t say another word on the subject, but he cast a backwards glance at Martha’s flat. He saw golden light still glowing in the window and the corner of his mouth crinkled with an almost imperceptible smile before he turned back to Captain Harkness and walked with his friend through the gathering darkness.

 

\--

Martha gathered the grease stained take-away boxes and tossed them into the bin before carefully stacking the plates and glasses in the sink. It had been nice having Jack and Mickey around, she decided. Her schedule with UNIT was so unpredictable that she hardly had time to see any of her family with the exception of a quick cup of tea with her mother every now and again.

And lately Tom had been away more than she had. Jack had been right when he’d noted Tom hadn’t been home in awhile, preferring to move straight on to the next disaster zone and give aid where it was most needed. Not that she blamed him. Martha envied her fiancée and his place in the field, helping the helpless, whereas she spent her days fighting with bullheaded bureaucrats and politicians in military dress, trying to change their stubborn ways and make UNIT into a place she could be proud of.

She was determined that the Doctor would never regret recommending her for the job of medical officer. First thing in the morning, she would get straight to work on dismantling the Osterhagen project. But that was tomorrow. Tonight, she reached for her mobile and called her fiancée.

After a series of rings Tom’s outgoing message greeted her. Martha listened to his voice. “Hello, this is Dr. Thomas Milligan. I’m not able to answer my phone at the moment, but if you’ll leave me a brief message I will return your call as soon as possible.” 

_BEEP!_

The hushed static of radio silence was loud in her ear. After a moment, Martha spoke in a subdued tone. “Hi, love. I’m sure you have your hands full, but I just needed to hear you’re all right. Crazy day here. Daleks, a clone of the Doctor, pulling the Earth back to its place in the solar system. There was a great lot of us there helping the Doctor today, all of us in the TARDIS. Jack and Donna were there. And I met Rose Tyler. She was really lovely. I’m glad the Doctor found her again. I just really missed you today and wanted to tell you that I – “

_BEEP!_            

Martha pulled the phone from her ear and snapped it shut. With a sigh, she extinguished the kitchen light and made her way toward the bedroom, navigating the darkness with the confidence of someone accustomed to life in the shadows.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set three months after Torchwood "Children of Earth."

The rain came on suddenly. Martha had narrowly avoided getting soaked by ducking to a nearby pub. She sighed, grateful to be out of the downpour, and took a seat at the bar. This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d left the UNIT offices for a late lunch, but it would do. The place was practically empty, save for a few old souls lingering over their beers, and Martha craned her neck searching for someone who could serve her.

What she found instead was the last thing she’d expected to see. She slid from the barstool and stormed across the pub, fists tightly clenched at her sides.

\---

Since he’d walked out of the holding facility, Jack Harkness had long since lost count of the drinks he’d consumed and of the time that had passed. Since that day, he’d been searching for something, and no matter how hard or how long he looked, he still found Ianto’s face at the bottom of every pint glass. And young Steven’s innocent eyes seemed to stare back at him from the surface of every shot, perfectly reflected in clear vodka mirrors.

Nestled in a booth at the rear of the pub, Jack poured himself another drink. A wad of cash had ensured that the barman would keep him well-supplied. Today, his anesthetic of choice was whisky and the liquid burned a fiery path down his throat, momentarily distracting him from the bottomless depths of his anguish.

Then, a familiar voice spoke his name. But he was mistaken. He had no friends here, only strangers.

“Jack, where have you been? We’ve been calling you for ages. Three months we’ve been absolutely worried sick.”

A mirthless grin parted his lips and, without looking up from his glass, he drily said, “On a rainy afternoon in London, I hear the sound of a nightingale.”

Martha slid into the booth and sat beside him. “Talk to me, Jack,” she implored. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere, Gwen and Rhys and me, And Mickey too. Please, Jack.”

“What do you want me to say?” his voice was dangerously quiet.

“Anything,” she pleaded.

“OK,” he whispered. His eyes met hers. Martha saw the calm fury in his gaze and though it frightened her, she squared her jaw, offering it as a challenge.

“Where. The hell. Were you?” he bit each word and spat it at her contemptuously.

“What?” Martha gasped.

“Where the hell were you?” Jack demanded, the anger flowing freely now. “We could have stopped it all. We’ve done it before. I _needed_ you here, Martha.” For emphasis, he stabbed at the dark wood tabletop with his finger. It was then he noticed the glittering wedding band she wore. “Oh that’s right. You were too busy shagging that new husband of yours. So how was the honeymoon? Did you bring back some souvenirs or did you and Tom even leave the hotel room?”

She slapped him. A loud, cracking blow that made her palm ache and left a hot, angry welt on his cheek. Every head in the pub turned to stare at them, but neither Martha or Jack cared about the gawkers. At the moment, nothing and no one existed outside the booth.

“How dare you?” she said slowly, the pain of his accusation evident in her voice. “You have _no_ idea what I went through trying to get back here so that I _could_ help you. And just where the hell were you when it was all over? Couldn’t you even be bothered to come to Ianto’s memorial service?”

Martha saw Jack’s muscles bunch and tense beneath his wrinkled shirt, saw his knuckles whiten against the ocher of the whisky. She knew that had she been a man, he would have hit her for that remark. She deserved it too, but that didn’t stop her from forging ahead.

"I know what he meant to you Jack. He was my friend too,” Martha continued. “You don’t get the monopoly on grief here. We all loved him and we all miss him terribly. Just _stop_ pushing us away,” she begged, emotion breaking her voice.

Ignoring her words, Jack swallowed another drink. Martha thought the loss of Ianto was the sole cause of all his sorrow. His nightingale was forgiving, but if she knew about the monstrosity of his actions during the incident, there was no way she would have so easily whitewashed him of the oily black sins he’d committed.

A part of him wanted to confess that he’d murdered his grandson Steven to save the children of Earth. It would drive her away completely, leaving him to his miserable solitude. But Jack couldn’t bring himself to say the words, knowing he would be unable to withstand the look of horror and disgust in her dark chocolate eyes.

“I have to,” he finally said. “I can’t breathe.”

Martha reached out and plucked the next drink from his fingers. “Yeah, because you’re drowning yourself.”

“No, it’s like I’m slowly suffocating,” Jack explained. “Everything’s too small, too close. Every breath is a struggle to fill my lungs.”

“Then we’ll get you some oxygen,” Martha told him.

“Why bother?”

She took his hand and held it tightly as she explained, “Because we love you Jack and want to help you. You’re just being too damn stubborn to realize.”

A long, taut silence hovered over the table and Martha studied the captain intently, though he pretended not to notice her penetrating stares. Finally, she reproached him.

“You’re being a coward, Jack Harkness. This isn’t who you are. Running away like this isn’t the answer.”

A dark, hollow laugh pushed its way out his raw and aching throat. “Isn’t it? I can run forever.”

“Look, remember what you told Mickey and me? That day every one of us was in the TARDIS with the Doctor…remember what you said to us. You said to always be open to giving and receiving love because it’s the best part of everything we are.”

“I remember,” Jack said quietly.

Hope flickered in Martha’s eyes and she said, “Good, I’m glad you remember. But you’ve closed yourself off to us – to me and Gwen and Mickey and Rhys. Follow your own advice Jack.”

“Hmph,” he snorted and extended his free hand, taking his liquor and bringing it to his mouth. A small sip slid past his lips and he cut his eyes at Martha. “It’s bullshit.”

“What is?” she asked.

“My…’advice,’” Jack sneered. “It’s bullshit. I’d be better off if I’d never loved anyone to begin with. I’m better off alone.”

Jack watched Martha’s demeanor cool considerably. She released her grip on his hand and as she rose from the booth, she had an air of glacial imperviousness.

“You know who you sound like, don’t you?” she questioned.

“Who?” Jack spoke from inside his glass.

“You sound exactly like him,” Martha said scathingly. “He always thinks he’s better off alone and look where it gets him. But he needs people to make him better and so do you, whether you want to admit it or not. Goodbye, _Captain_ Harkness.”

With those final words, Martha spun on her heels and hurried away. Jack watched Martha fling herself into the storm and hold out her arm to hail a passing cab. He continued to gaze as she climbed into the taxi and disappeared in the tempest. Then, Jack held out his own arm to hail the barman.

“Another one,” he said, shaking the empty whisky bottle.

* * *

 

Martha paid the cabbie and then quickly sprinted into her flat, slamming the door behind her as she entered. After that confrontation with Jack, the last thing she wanted was to go back to UNIT. What she wanted was to be home with her husband, to have him soothe away the dreadful day she’d had.

“Tom?” she called in the quiet.

“In here!” he yelled in reply, and she followed his voice to the bedroom.

“You won’t believe what just happened. I saw…” she froze at the threshold.

Tom’s well-worn canvas duffel was on the mattress and he was filling the bag with freshly laundered, neatly folded garments.

“What the hell are you doing?” Martha demanded.

“There’s been a mudslide in India,” Tom explained, not even looking up from his packing to greet her. “They need help straightaway. I’m on a flight that leaves at half past seven.”

“You can’t!” she cried. “You’ve only been home for two weeks. They can’t need you to go again so quickly.”

“They’re desperate for the extra help. That’s why I volunteered.”

Martha could feel the heat of flames on her face. “You did what?” Incredulity rang through the ire in her tone.

Tom sighed heavily, “Come on, Martha; don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” her voice rose an octave. “I bloody well should’ve started a long time ago.”

Irrationally, she knocked his organized stacks of clothing into a heap on the floor. That made her feel a little better. Tersely, he bent to pick them up again.

“Where is all this coming from?” Tom questioned, annoyance and confusion prevalent in his dark eyes. “My work has never been a surprise to you.”

“Then let me tell you…” Martha crossed her arms at her chest. “I didn’t mind when I had to attend our engagement party alone because your flight out of Haiti couldn’t get clearance for takeoff. And, I didn’t mind that we spent part of our honeymoon treating migrants and asylum seekers in France.

“What I mind, is that today, right now, at this very second, I need you to be here. With me. Today, I really need you to be my husband, to hold me in your arms and tell me that everything is going to be OK.”

Tom briefly held out his hands toward her then let them drop. Wordlessly, he let Martha continue.

“Somehow you’ve become this ghost that wanders in and out of my life,” she told him. “When you do come home for a few weeks, you’re so exhausted and jet-lagged that I’m lucky to get a proper evening with you before you have to leave again. And before you say it, yes I know how important your work is and I understand how much it means to you. But, what about us, Tom? What about me? I’m tired of being second best in my own marriage.”

Tom hung his head, her words coloring his face in shades of discomfiture.

Martha could feel her body starting to betray her. She had been so rigid and tough with Jack and now again with Tom, but suddenly she felt so weary. She had been stalwart for far too long and now she was losing steam. Martha could almost feel her bones turning to water.

As he took a step toward her, Tom spoke her name quietly, affectionately.

“Martha…”

She found the strength to speak. In a ragged voice she said, “When you figure out what you want…let me know.”

Moving her legs was a herculean task, but Martha made her way out of the flat. She stood on the curb for a moment, seeing no sign of any black cabs on the residential street, then let herself dissolve into the rain, aimlessly trickling along the sidewalk until she no longer knew how much time had passed or how far she’d wandered.

* * *

 

Burrowing deeper into his coat, Mickey grumbled at the fat grey clouds. He didn’t mind rain, but enough was enough. He quickened his pace, his sturdy black boots recklessly splashing through the puddles dotting the sidewalk, and moved with purpose, determined to get out of the storm as quickly as possible. He was ready to be warm and dry.

He was already daydreaming of a hot cup of tea with a drop of something extra when he turned a corner and full-on collided with another rain-soaked pedestrian.

“Oh, sorry mate,” the apology automatically fell from his lips. Then, as he noticed who he’d crashed into, Mickey exclaimed, “Hey, Martha! How’s it going?”

She didn’t reply. Her arms were folded at her chest and she swayed listlessly on her feet.

“Martha? What’s wrong?” Mickey questioned. Again, Martha said nothing and Mickey watched helplessly as her face suddenly crumpled and she began to cry, hot tears dripping from her bleak, dull eyes and disappearing in the rain.

“Hey,” Mickey exhaled. Instinctively, he pulled her to him and held her tight as her petite frame shook with sobs. His voice rumbled out of his chest and flowed with a comforting cadence as he spoke words of calm reassurance.

“Shh…Everything’s going to be OK.”

After an indeterminable collection of moments, Mickey corralled Martha to a nearby chippie. He seated her at a table in the front of the shop and went to order two cups of tea. When he returned, he found her tenderly wiping at her reddened, tear swollen eyes with the corner of a rough paper napkin.

“Here,” Mickey said quietly and pushed a steaming mug toward her. He quickly cupped his hands around the thick ceramic cup, grateful for the warmth that revived his achingly numb fingers.

“Thanks,” she sniffled. They sat silently, listening to the cacophony of raindrops on the storefront window keeping time with the high pitched buzz of florescent lights. Each of them nursed their cups of tea until Martha finally spoke.

“I found Jack.”

Mickey’s cup lowered to the table so quickly that some of the hot liquid sloshed over the rim and dripped onto his knuckles. He ignored the flash of pain and said energetically, “Well where is he?”

“Getting completely off his face in a pub across town. He drank nearly an entire bottle of whisky while I was there with him.”

“Then I guess that answers the question of how he’s doing,” Mickey commented. “The 456 thing hit him hard, huh?”

“He blames himself for Ianto’s death,” Martha explained. Then she quietly murmured, “And not just himself.”

“What was that?” Mickey asked.

“Oh, just something Jack said earlier.”

“Well what did he say?”

Martha sighed sadly. “He was angry with me for not being here when the incident occurred. He thinks that if I’d been here, we could’ve found a way to stop them sooner. And he’s probably right. Jack and I make one hell of a team when it comes to problems of the ‘save the world’ variety. Between us and Gwen and Ianto, we could’ve done something. Then maybe Ianto would still be alive.”

Mickey’s brow furrowed. “It’s not your fault. Jack shouldn’t blame you for what happened. He shouldn’t have said anything.”

“He didn’t say anything I haven’t thought a thousand times already,” Martha admitted. “He didn’t say anything that I hadn’t already read in Gwen’s eyes, or Rhys’. I tried desperately to come back from my honeymoon so that I could do something, anything, to help, I just…”

“Wait, you were on your honeymoon?” Mickey interrupted.

Martha nodded as she took a sip of tea. “Tom and I were in France.”

Mickey grinned. “Sharing a baguette at the Eiffel Tower?”

“No, we were in a medical facility, treating migrants and some asylum seekers from Sri Lanka. We had a couple of nights to ourselves then met up with the Doctors without Borders staff.”

“Hold on; you spent your _honeymoon_ caring for sick people?” Mickey said incredulously. “Isn’t a honeymoon supposed to be a shag-a-thon with a little bit of sightseeing and some posh dinners thrown in?”

Martha couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Generally that’s how it goes, but not for Tom and me.”

“So what happened?” he asked, then held up one hand. “But spare me all the graphic details.”

She spluttered on her tea as she laughed and Mickey was glad to see the sad expression vanish from her face, even if it was only for a moment. As she composed herself, Martha couldn’t help thinking that if her meeting with Jack had gone differently, she would have been having a similar conversation, except Jack would have demanded all of the graphic details. And when she refused, he would have inevitably launched into a lurid tale about some sexual escapade of his – how he’d shagged every cancan dancer at the Moulin Rouge or something equally bizarre and unbelievable. She would have blushed and covered her warm, embarrassed face and he would have laughed outrageously.

But that hadn’t happened, and it probably never would.

“It was midmorning and we were in the tenth district, treating an outbreak of scabies in the migrants living on the streets,” Martha told him. “The hospitals were overrun and there were a couple hundred people who needed help, so we pitched in and did what we could. That was when it started. A handful of kids just stood up and froze in place, perfectly still. None of us gave it much thought. We thought it was a game they were playing.

“Tom and I did a little sightseeing in the district, bought a few souvenirs to take home. Some little trinket for Mum, perfume for Tish and Gwen, and a red beret – a little something for Jack and Ianto,” Martha chuckled, as if savoring a private joke. Mickey didn’t understand the reference, but he wasn’t going to interrupt.

She pressed on. “That afternoon we went for another round of consultations. The kids froze again but we still didn’t think anything of it. Then, it happened. Each of them opened their mouths and started repeating the same words over and over and over again…”

“’We are coming,’” Mickey joined in.

Martha nodded furiously. “’We are coming.’ They all said it, all these children who could barely speak a word of English, all of them in perfect unison. Straightaway I thought something was wrong. I tried calling Torchwood, but phone lines everywhere were swamped. Finally that night, I was able to get a call out from our hotel, but no one would answer their mobiles. Tom convinced me that whatever was happening, UNIT and Torchwood could handle it.”

She paused to take another drink of her tea, astonished at how much she was talking about the incident. Martha had had no one to whom she tell her story. After everything that had happened to them, the horrors of the 456 was the last thing her family needed to hear. And Gwen had lived a much more horrendous version of events than she had done, so it seemed pointless burden the Welshwoman any further in her current condition.

But Mickey seemed to be taking everything in stride, patiently waiting for her to continue.

“For three days I heard nothing from anyone,” Martha said. “Every chance I had, I’d sneak away to call them. First Jack, then Ianto. Next was Gwen, followed by my UNIT superiors. Then I called the Doctor.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows in surprise, but remained silent.

“When he didn’t answer, I started all over again. Jack, Ianto, Gwen, UNIT, the Doctor…desperate to get some kind of answer. Kept dialing and redialing. Tom kept working with the migrants, but I couldn’t keep attending to nameless strangers when I had no way of knowing about the wellbeing of the people I love. Transportation was nightmare what with everyone quickly abandoning their holidays to rush home to care for their children. That night, we heard about the attack on Thames House and I was ready to swim the Channel if it meant getting back to London.

"By this point, I was only calling the Doctor. After hours of constant ringing, he finally answered.”

“He did? What did he say? Why didn’t he do anything to help?” Mickey demanded, angrier than he’d meant to sound.

“At first the line was completely silent. I was ready to hang up and dial again when I could hear breathing on the other end. ‘Doctor, we need you,’ I told him. Finally, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Martha. I’m so sorry. Fixed points, they can’t be altered. What’s happening…it can’t be stopped. Tell Jack I’m sorry.’”

“Was that it?” Mickey prompted when Martha slipped into quiet reverie.

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before telling him, “That was all. The Doctor hung up. And the next day, it was all over. The 456 was gone. That night, Gwen called to tell me that Ianto was dead and Jack had disappeared. Tom and I came home from France; Gwen, Rhys, and I went to Ianto’s memorial service, and no one had heard a word from Jack.”

“Until today,” Mickey supplied.

“Yeah,” Martha whispered. “Until today. Ever since I took the call from Gwen, I’ve kept thinking if I’d just gone home days before then maybe I could have done something. Maybe we could’ve saved Ianto.” She went very still and a fresh tear slid down her cheek. “At the very least, I could’ve been there to say goodbye.”

Mickey took Martha’s hand in his own and gave it a comforting squeeze. Martha didn’t make an effort to move. After a moment, she turned her gaze out the shop window. Somehow, without her noticing, night had fallen.

Martha took back her hand and swiped at her moist eyes. “Oh gosh, I’ve talked too much for too long. You should’ve stopped me from rambling,” she stated.

“I didn’t mind,” Mickey said softly and flashed a crooked grin.

“No, really, why didn’t you tell me to shut my trap?” Martha wondered. “I would’ve gotten bored with me ages ago.”

“Honestly Martha, I didn’t mind,” Mickey retorted. “And it seemed like you needed to talk. I’m just glad I could I could be the one to listen.”

A slow smile spread across Martha’s face and she expressed her gratitude. “Thank you,” she said genuinely.

“Any time,” Mickey told her, rising from his seat. She followed suit and stood next to the table, extending her arms toward him. Mickey stepped into her embrace and hugged her tightly.

“Next time we get together, there will be less crying, I swear,” Martha promised.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Mickey chuckled and tentatively took a step away from her. “Good night, Dr. Jones.”

“Good night, Mr. Smith,” Martha responded. As she turned toward the shop counter, Mickey stepped out into the fog enveloped evening but not before stopping to take another glance at Martha as he left.

She stood at the counter, waiting for someone who could take her order.

“I should probably get an order for Tom,” she thought, even though she was still upset with her husband.

While she waited, she took her mobile from her damp jacket pocket and switched it back on. The screen flared to life and she discovered she had eight missed calls. Her fingers moved deftly over the keyboard and pulled up the call log, revealing one call from her sister Tish, another from an unknown number, and six from Tom.

Two voicemails sat in her inbox. She punched in her access code and brought the mobile to her ear.

_“Martha, it’s me. Please answer…”_ Tom trailed off into a frustrated sigh. _“Why the bloody hell should you answer?”_ he murmured in voice so low Martha strained to hear. After a beat, his voice returned at full volume. _“Martha, I’m sorry. Really, I am. You are not second best and I can’t believe that’s how I made you feel. I love you, Martha.”_

There was another long pause and she let his words absorb into her softening heart.

_“Listen, I’m at the airport. Come see me off before I go. I hate to leave with things this way.”_

Martha stiffened. She deleted the message and listened to the next.

_“Hi love, me again. I’m at the gate, about to board. I wish I could’ve seen you before I left. But I will be home on Friday and we can talk then. I love you.”_

The message ended and, with a lightly trembling hand, Martha returned the mobile to her pocket.

The shop owner emerged from the kitchen and politely asked, “What’ll it be?”

“Just a fish and chips meal to go.”

“Large order of chips?”

Martha cleared away the emotions rising in her throat before she answered, “No, regular. Otherwise it’s too much for me to eat alone.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time after the end of Torchwood "Miracle Day."

The early afternoon sun shone brightly in London and Captain Jack Harkness took in the beautiful warmth of it all. His return to immortal status had not made him forget those miraculous days when he was once again a normal human being. He lived these days with renewed vigor, literally and metaphorically stopping to smell the roses now and again.

He’d lived for too long as a jaded, bitter cynic; now he lived as a jaded, bitter cynic with an appreciation for the little things. But this day wasn’t about enjoying his newfound lease on life, it was about making amends for his old one.

Just as he had been for many months before, Jack was searching for something. Today he found his quarry easily. On the other side of the park, she sat on a sturdy wooden bench, a paper cup of franchised coffee in one hand and a slim tome in the other.

Martha had hardly changed at all. Her hair was longer and in lieu of a crisp suit or the combat gear she normally donned for UNIT, she wore tight denims with heavy black boots and a casual blouse beneath a utilitarian grey jacket. From the distance, she seemed relaxed and content.

A shout of greeting hovered just behind his lips, but Jack could not bring himself to free it. He had been so horrible to Martha the last time he’d seen her and he was afraid of what she might have to say about his sudden reappearance. So with hands stuffed in the pockets of his military coat, Jack stood and he watched, hidden in the shadows that hovered amongst the trees.

\---

Martha lowered the novella and looked at her watch. Repeatedly glancing at the timepiece wouldn’t get her husband to her any faster, but it couldn’t hurt. She sighed and raised the book again, quickly finding her place in the print. She had only read a few lines when a shadow descended and blotted out her light. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a swish of dark navy fabric.

A slow smile spread over Martha’s lips and she said, “I told you so. I knew you wouldn’t make it here by half one.”

The sound of a breathy chuckle wafted into her ear before she heard, “On a beautiful day in London, I hear the sound of a nightingale.”

Slowly, Martha turned her head. Unbelievably, there he stood.

“Jack,” she whispered his name.

Light blue shirt and dark blue trousers and, of course, his great military coat. Everything was the same. He hadn’t changed at all, Martha noted. But, of course, he was Jack. It was highly unlikely he would ever noticeably grow older in her lifetime. He did, however, look different, tired, as if all the years of his long life had suddenly caught up to him. The untrained eye would never notice, but to Martha it was obvious..

“Jack.” The word caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak again, but emotion stole her voice. Unable to make another sound, Martha leapt to her feet and launched herself into Jack’s waiting arms.

Tears dripped through their laughter and a feeling of overwhelming relief washed over their embrace. He brushed his lips to her cheek as he lowered her back to the ground.

“I have missed you _so_ much,” Martha said fervently.

“Oh nightingale, I’ve missed you too. I’d write you poetry but Keats beat me to it,” Jack retorted and she briefly rolled her eyes.

He joined her on the bench and she asked, “So are we calling another meeting of the End of the World Survivors’ Club?”

“How many does this make how?” Jack mused.

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s enough to earn us a platinum membership.”

They sat together silently, not sure exactly how to speak to one another after the time that had passed. Neither knew what words could express what lay between them.

Finally, Jack said, “Martha, I…”

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t need saying,” she interrupted. “I’ve already forgiven you for that day in the pub. I wasn’t at my best then either.”

Staggered by her fierce and unwavering devotion, Jack took Martha’s hand and held it tight. “Not this time,” he told her. “There were so many things I meant to tell Ianto, but I didn’t until it was too late. I’m not making that mistake again. Martha, I owe you so much for everything you’ve done for me, for the rest of the Torchwood team. You, you are bloody spectacular. ”

When she blushed under the shower of his compliments, he said, “You’re my hero, Martha Jones,” and placed an affectionate kiss on her knuckles.

“All right, break it up!” a voice demanded. Martha and Jack turned to see Mickey standing beside them.

Jack heaved a loud groan. “Am I never going to get rid of you?”

“Not a chance,” Mickey smiled before leaning in to press an eager kiss to Martha’s lips.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jack shouted crossly. “What the hell do you two think you’re doing? Martha, you’re a married woman,” he reprimanded.

“You’re right, I am,” she agreed. “And Mickey’s a married man. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Jack quickly glimpsed at Mickey’s hand, finally noting the silver wedding band.

“Boss, there’s someone you should meet,” Mickey stated. He gazed at Martha lovingly, “Darling, this my friend Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood. Jack, this is my wife, Dr. Martha Smith-Jones.”

Gobsmacked, Jack stared at the couple with his mouth agape then he quickly snapped it shut before dropping it another time.

“Wha…How…When?” he stammered.

Pleased with the captain’s discomposure, Martha explained, “It wasn’t long after the 456 incident that I filed for divorce from Tom. It wasn’t difficult to push through the channels quickly since the words ‘high ranking UNIT official’ carry a lot of weight.”

“But Martha and I didn’t get married until a few months after the Blessing,” Mickey chimed in.

“I’d known that I loved him,” Martha said, “but it wasn’t until then that I realized if I was going to live forever then I wanted to spend it with him.”

Jack was still trying to process the information, but he found himself torn between being genuinely touched with Martha’s loving declaration and fighting the urge to gag at its cloying quality.

"So what happened with Tom?” Jack couldn’t stop himself from asking. “I always thought he was a great guy.”

“He is,” Martha said without hesitation. “But I kept expecting him to be the man I met during the Year that Never Was. There were a few similarities, but he was just never really what I thought he was. It took a long time for me to realize that technically the man I met never existed and that my Tom was never going to be him. After that, it didn’t seem fair to either of us to stay in a marriage we couldn’t make work.”

Jack kindly rubbed the back of her hand then looked between her and Mickey and said, “As long as you’re happy…”

Martha grinned sappily at her husband and replied, “I really, really am.”

Their eyes conveyed a silent, intimate conversation while Jack sat awkwardly by. Finally, he cleared his throat and reminded them of his presence.

“So what have you been doing all this time?” Mickey inquired.

“Searching, mostly,” Jack replied.

“And what were you looking for?”

“Oh, I don’t know really,” Jack said broadly. “Some wonderful place where smiles don’t fade and hearts are never broken. Not Utopia certainly. We both know how that works out,” he winked at Martha. “Maybe I was looking for a way to turn back time, to forget every terrible day I’ve lived, until everything was all right again.”

He turned his gaze toward the ground, staring at his tan colored boots with unseeing eyes, lost in a haze of memory.

“But at the heart of it all, I was really looking for Ianto, for a way to be with him again. To end it all.”

“Then I’m glad you didn’t find what you were looking for,” Martha told him firmly, a sudden fire crackling in her eyes.

“Well, I did and I didn’t,” Jack responded. “That’s the thing about searching. You never get the answers you want to hear, but in the end that’s usually for the best.”

“What are you going to do now? Rebuild Torchwood?” Mickey questioned.

Jack shook his head. “No, my days with Torchwood are over. The crown will reinstate it one day, but I won’t be part of the new regime. I’ve been there far too long. It’s time for someone else to take over.”

“Then what’s next? What distant horizon are you going to see now?”

“No horizons,” Jack said. “I’ve been a rootless vagabond for awhile now. This tumbleweed is tired of tumblin’. No…I think I’m going to stay put for awhile.”

His response earned him another crushing embrace from Martha, who told him, “Happy to hear it.”

“So…” Jack changed the subject, “how was the honeymoon? I want all the graphic details.”

Martha groaned.

“Come on! At least tell me where you went.”

“Rio,” Mickey supplied.

“Ooh, good choice. South America is always fun. Did I ever tell you about the Silurian I met in Venezuela? My god, the things she did with that tongue of hers were illegal in nine different galaxies.”

“JACK!!” Martha exclaimed. While her husband and the captain laughed exuberantly, Martha quietly slid into her thoughts.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since she and Mickey and Jack had left the Doctor and the TARDIS in this very park. That day, they had survived the Daleks and Davros and had said so many hellos and goodbyes. It had been difficult but they were together, and they parted ways with the others feeling hopeful for a bright future, like joy was never very far away.

Jack had Ianto waiting for him in Cardiff, Martha had a loving fiancée, and Mickey had an entire new life waiting to begin.

But the bright future had never come. Separately, they’d succeeded in the face of alien attacks and separately they each grappled with a greater threat – humanity. And the unfathomable darkness they’d seen in the rest of the human race, they now carried a piece of it with them. They were all three unspeakably wounded and those pains would never fully heal. Martha knew they would each grow older and tougher and wiser, but those wounds would always be tender at the edges.

Now, here they were. Together again in a way that felt very different yet so very similar to the time they exited the TARDIS, almost as if they had come full circle, as if this day and that were somehow a part of one another.

Outside of her thoughts, Martha caught a snatch of another of Jack’s ribald tales and she quickly interrupted.

“Why don’t you come round ours for tea?” she suggested, rising from the bench to stand beside Mickey.

“I’d say that it was long overdue and I’d be glad to join you,” Jack accepted.

“Think you can keep up?” Martha’s eyes twinkled as she took a few steps back.

Jack cast a glance at Mickey. “Is she serious?”

Mickey held his hands aloft and said good-naturedly, “Hey, I chased her for months. It’s your turn now.”

Jack fixed a hard stare on Martha, but his lips twitched with a barely suppressed smile. “You’re on.”

In a flash, she tore off down the path, running as quickly as she could. Her silvery peals of laughter wafted high in the air as Jack ran close at her heels bellowing, “Oh you’re gonna get it! Your ass is mine Martha Jones!”

“That’s ‘doctor’ to you, Jack Harkness,” she yelled over her shoulder. “And it’s Smith-Jones now. Don’t you forget it!”

From where he stood on the footpath, Mickey smiled indulgently and watched his wife and the captain giving chase, leading one another in dizzying circles and elaborate zigs and zags as they tried to avoid each other’s clutches. He set off after them at a steady trot and called out, “Oi, you two!”

Jack and Martha slowed to a stop and turned toward him.

“Come on Mickey Mouse! Get the lead out,” Jack goaded.

“Get ready to eat my dust Captain Cheesecake,” Mickey responded to the taunt as he sped past.

There was a beat of silence before Mickey heard Martha shout, “Get him!”

He looked back to see the duo charging straight for him and he nearly faltered for his laughing. After a few more strides, Jack and Martha matched his pace and they easily jogged to the flat.

Outside on the stoop, Jack flipped open his vortex manipulator and punched in a series of codes. The Smiths watched him slyly as his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Something wrong, boss?”

“That should’ve worked,” Jack murmured.

“It’s triple deadlocked now,” Mickey informed.

“Ooh, I love a challenge,” Jack winked. With a roll of her eyes, Martha unlocked the door and invited him inside.

“In you get. And wipe your feet first.”

Jack gave a mock salute and sounded off a “yes ma’am” before following her orders and stepping over the threshold. Mickey dropped a tender kiss on her lips before trailing after the captain.

 _“End of the World Survivors’ Club,”_ Martha thought. _“Well as long as we have this right here, we can survive it all.”_

"Martha! You better get in here!” Mickey shouted. “Harkness has claimed all the chocolate biscuits.”

She could hear the sound of boisterous laughter and she chuckled warmly before shaking her head.

"Jack, put the biscuits down and slowly back away from the tin. I have Weevil spray and I am not afraid to use it!” she threatened and closed the door behind her.


End file.
